Dark Sansa Needs a Nightlight

I love Game of Thrones. I really do. It fills a fantasy-shaped hole in my heart (and TV viewing schedule) I scarcely knew existed before it came along. But it's because I love the show that I feel the need to point out what it could do better. So I'm weighing in, and I'm starting with the latest and most controversial move the show has made: the rape of Sansa Stark..

Now, before you start groaning and asking me, "Didn't you know this was a bleak show when you started watching?", let me point out that I don't object to rape being included in the plot. Craster's daughters were raped by their father and by the men of the Night's Watch, and while I did not find that pleasant, I accepted it because it made sense for the story they were trying to tell. But the problem with what happened to Sansa isn't so much that it's upsetting (though it is). The problem is that it's crappy writing.

Just as recently as the end of the last season, the show made a promise to us in the form of Sansa Stark sweeping down a staircase, looking like a Goth empress ready to enter the game and destroy the hearts of her enemies. It was a glorious transformation for the weak, wide-eyed girl from Winterfell who once thought being Joffrey's queen was the realization of all her fondest dreams. Having had those dreams ripped down around her ears via her father's execution and Joffrey's sadistic abuse, we finally saw her emerge from the ashes like an elegant, dark-clad phoenix. She made the decision to lie and protect Littlefinger, who she judged to be her best ally, and apprenticed herself to him to learn how to play the game. She showed agency and cleverness in this, as Littlefinger is one of the game's most astute players, and one uniquely susceptible to Sansa's charms based upon his fondness for her late mother.

When Sansa found out that Littlefinger had arranged for her to marry Ramsey Bolton, she was justifiably freaked out and confused, as was I. Why on earth would she want to marry the son of the man who killed her mother and brother? But when Littlefinger explained that it was a way for her to wreak revenge, I was somewhat mollified. Now, I supposed, we would finally see Dark Sansa in action. There was further support for this notion when Sansa was reminded by an old serving woman in Winterfell that "the North remembers," and that she had supporters. In my head, I began to have glorious visions of a Stark coup as our clever young lady played upon the anger and sympathy of the Stark loyalists to bring down the man who murdered her family. 

Then Ramsey started torturing her emotionally at dinner, trotting out Theon and having him apologize for murdering her brothers before deciding that Theon would walk her down the aisle at her wedding. "Well," I thought, "this is just stoking the fire. It's just going to make her angrier and hungrier for revenge, to be reminded of what she lost and who she lost it to." But I felt a little dubious. I mean, things weren't looking good, and I still didn't see any signs of Sansa's grand plan taking shape. She had to have one, though, right? I mean, otherwise, why wouldn't she have just lit the damn candle that she knew could summon someone to help her? "No," I assured myself, "she's definitely building to something."

Then she married Ramsey and he raped her while Theon watched. And our next episode shows her curled up in the fetal position, under lock and key, forced to piteously implore Theon to light the candle because Ramsey's been raping and hurting her nightly.

And that's when my temper finally snapped. 

Really? I mean, really? You're telling me that after all this Dark Sansa crap, all this apprenticeship to Littlefinger, and all these apparent decisions she's been making to land herself here, she's back to just wilting in a corner while she's abused by a sadist? Given that she's looking to be extricated from her situation via the candle, it's pretty clear that she doesn't have any long game here. Which basically begs the question of why she didn't light the f--king candle in the first place, back when she could move about freely and before she was cruelly deflowered? Why would she go through this when she didn't have to unless she had a plan? But how could she have had any kind of plan if she's just flailing helplessly to try and get the candle lit at this point?

So basically, Dark Sansa wrote a check that this story couldn't cash. Instead of signalling her rise to try her hand at the tricks and manipulations of the game, it was basically just a stopover on her round trip back to being Helpless Victim Sansa. Which I wouldn't have been half as angry about if they hadn't promised me more. 

Ultimately, I need movements in a story to mean something. As my beta reader will tell me, I shouldn't write things into a novel that I don't plan on doing anything with, because it's a good way to build up reader expectations without any payoff AND waste precious space. And in a TV show with a hundred freaking characters, they really don't have the space to waste. So I devoutly hope that in the future, the show plans out narrative arcs for the character that follow a path that offers some form of payoff, instead of doing loop-de-loops in the plot parking lot until people get bored and annoyed and start wandering off. If you promise me a player, then you better let her play the damn game.

Review: Daredevil on Netflix

Visit this link for more information on the show.

           I have resisted getting Netflix for ages, a move that has resulted in many of the people in my life questioning my life choices. However, as an avid comic book fan, I knew Daredevil would be my breaking point. At the very least, I had to at least get the one-month trial when the show was released and see if it lived up to my fangirl expectations.

           Color me stunned. After devouring all 13 episodes in a 48-hour period, it took me a day of rest just to be able to speak about them intelligently. And here I am, still fumbling for words to explain just why this show rocked my world.

           I guess the best way to explain what Daredevil does well is to explain all the pitfalls it neatly avoids. Even the best TV shows I watch of late suffer from at least two big problems: (1) uneven character development and (2) poor pacing. With the first problem, perhaps our main character is developed, but too many of the people around him/her are paper cutouts we’re supposed to care about, but don’t. There might be some thin, cliche attempts to make the antagonist have depth, as well, but they’re often just no good rotten scoundrels in a way that real people seldom are.

         With the second problem, you see shows racing to throw out all their best moves upfront to keep people watching. They rush romances to their ultimate conclusion far too soon and then having to manufacture obstacles to keep them from devolving into uninteresting domestic bliss. The story is also in such a hurry to get somewhere that the writers neglect to build up coherent supporting details or allow for any emotional investment. Or, just as bad, the story plods along, meditating endlessly on things that don’t ultimately seem to matter to the story being told. Some shows seem to alternate between the rush and the plodding, leaving the viewer feeling vaguely seasick. It suggests a lack of focus and planning, and a fuzzy view of their endgame for the season and for the series, altogether.

         On both these fronts, Daredevil owns the competition.

Cast image is found here.

          First of all, Daredevil handles character development like a boss. From Matt Murdock, our blind lawyer turned super-powered vigilante (portrayed by Charlie Cox), to his BFF, Foggy “Foggybear” Nelson (portrayed by Elden Henson), to criminal defendant turned secretary, Karen Page (portrayed by Deborah Ann Woll), everyone who walks across the screen in this show is given enough development to feel like a believable, relatable human being. And it’s not just these characters. Secondary characters like Ben Urich (portrayed by Vondie Curtis-Hall), our world-weary news reporter, and Elena Cardenas (portrayed by Judith Delgado), a beleaguered tenant in danger of being driven from her rent-controlled apartment, also get enough attention to make them interesting and beloved. To top it all off, the cast has amazing chemistry. Every time that Foggy and Karen are involved in hijinks, Matt and Foggy are bantering, or the three of them are coming together in a moment of solidarity, pure television magic happens.

          As for developing the main character into someone worth following, this, too, is a serious home run for Daredevil. One of the things I particularly like about the show is that it does not shrink from showing how difficult the life that Matt Murdock lives would actually be. Often, we see superheroes getting thrown into walls and hopping up, ready to shake it off and get back into the fight. In Daredevil, Matt's heroics are utterly brutal, and often leave him beaten senseless and bleeding. He shows resilience, which is explained partially by his family legacy of Murdock men being able to absorb a beating like nobody's business (his dad being a boxer), but he still takes punishment to do what he does. This makes the fact that he runs out there, still stitched up and bruised from the night before, all the more heroic, but also shows that he's at least slightly unbalanced. He doesn't seem to care much for his personal well-being, so fixated on saving the city that he loves that nothing else matters. There is an obsession here that is both admirable and deeply unhealthy. The way the show depicts his backstory- explaining how he was blinded, his upbringing, and about how he lost his father- it all makes perfect sense. After seeing where he came from, you have to wonder if he could have turned out any other way.

This image was found here.

          But it’s not just the protagonist types who get the star treatment around here. No, our big bad, Wilson Fisk, a.k.a. "the Kingpin" (expertly portrayed by Vincent D’Onofrio), also gets his time to shine. And boy, does he shine. A hulking menace with an almost nervous, quiet disposition at times, Fisk has own business, his own friends, and even his own love interest to see to. His world does not revolve around the actions of a single vigilante who is trying to interfere with his operations. More realistically, he often has bigger fish to fry as he busies himself with coordinating the factions of the organized crime in Hell’s Kitchen while envisioning himself as the neighborhood’s ultimate savior. He and his world are complex, and just as deserving as attention as Matt’s. It's only as the show progresses that these two forces begin to circle each other more closely.

          And the plot unfolds just like a flower, one petal at a time, until there is an explosion of goodness all up in your peepers. There is no rush to get people hooked up. Foggy’s obviously digging on Karen. Karen isn’t necessarily on board with that, but seems to be in the throes of a possible schoolgirl crush in Matt's company. Matt, himself, has ridiculous chemistry with Claire (portrayed by Rosario Dawson), the nurse who patches him up after his extracurricular activities leave him worse for the wear. However, the show does not appear to be in a rush for anybody to start picking out china patterns, allowing sparks to grow and fizzle where they naturally may. Meanwhile, who is out there finding true love? Wilson Motherf--ing Fisk, that’s who.

          Additionally, while the action is beautifully done and ever present, this is a show that isn’t afraid to spend most of one episode with two best friends having a terse conversation at a pivotal moment in their relationship. This may sound like boring stuff, watching two guys argue in a room with the occasional flashback, but I was hunched over on my couch, leaned in towards my TV with tears in my eyes, going, “Oh my God. Oh my God, what’s going to happen?” the entire time. The tension played out beautifully, and the subject of the conversation, alone, was enough to keep you riveted.

          In sum? This is basically some of the best TV I've watched in a long time. It’s become one of the shows that I feel I have to preach like the gospel, right up there with Game of Thrones and (sometimes) The Walking Dead. I feel so passionately about the quality of what I've seen so far that I need other people to know, and I feel almost certain that everyone who takes me up on it will come back pleased. So even if you don’t take me up on any of my other recommendations, heed me on this: watch Daredevil. Trust me, you won’t be sorry.

Further reading:

Why Marvel's 'Daredevil' Netflix Series has Changed Shared Universe Franchising

The "Daredevil" Binge-Blog

Netflix's Daredevil is Now the Second Most Pirated Show

Daredevil: A Longform Approach to Comic-Book Television

Jeph Loeb Talks "Daredevil," Marvel Studios, Promises "It's All Connected"

Book Review: REAPER by Katrina Monroe

Click here to buy a copy.

I'm pretty particular when it comes to what I read and what I don't. I like a fresh take on things, sure, but I like to tread certain familiar genre paths. I don't think I'm alone in that. People whose preferences tend toward detective novels might not be interested in, say, an old-school bodice-ripper, for instance. Personally, I like epic fantasy, chock full of forgotten kingdoms, magical powers, and strange, deadly beasts. Urban fantasy . . . not so much. I don't rule it out, because I never rule out an entire genre on principle, but it's generally not my cup of tea. I like to let my imagination bask in another world the way a sunbather catches rays, soaking it all in and forgetting the place I left behind. Epic fantasy does that for me. But it feels less like of an escape when the main character is driving a Honda and drinking Starbucks, so I tend to steer clear of urban fantasy. So believe me when I say that when I get hooked on a urban fantasy novel, that really means something.

Enter Katrina Monroe's novel, REAPER, the urban fantasy tale of wannabe writer, Oz, whose untimely death launches his real career as a collector of souls. There is an awkward middling stage-- isn't there always?-- in which he's forced to spend his time in a sort of writer's purgatory, writing ironic deaths. Then a lottery win plunges him into his existence as a reaper, lurking invisibly among the living and learning the ropes of soul-gathering from his grizzled, foul-mouthed mentor, Bard.

If I had to pinpoint what really drew me into this story in a subgenre that usually has me tiptoeing in like a swimmer into cold water, I'd probably identify three big strengths: (1) solid writing, (2) good world-building, and (3) relatable characters. When you've got these three things going for you, it doesn't matter what genre you're writing in. You're gonna suck people in. And Ms. Monroe has got all three.

I'll admit, I stumbled in the beginning of the book, thinking "oh God, oh God, there are going to be cars and blenders and shit in this story." Then the excellent use of language caught my eye and sent it gliding like scissors cruising through a sheet of wrapping paper. Of Oz's mother, we're told that, "Her sighs and groans were like their own language, known only to Oz," and that she "was the kind of woman who'd win a gold metal in the Guilt Olympics." With regard to Oz's father, we learn that "[t]he man saw [his] house as his own private fiefdom, and the vacating neighbors only strengthened his claim on the land." In those few phrases, I got where Oz was coming from, and a little bit of why he turned out the way he did. Later, the click of typewriter keys in an office is described as a "syncopated tapping like the hum of worker bees," something that starts to hit Oz's ear-- and mine-- like music. There's also a paragraph about a calender featuring a tabby kitten "frozen in mid yarn ball" that's fabulous in ways I'll leave you to discover for yourself. But the words, they are good. And I know good words.

The other thing that riveted me about this book was the world-building. I'm a writer, myself, and I know how tricky it is to weave in the details of a magical system or a mythology without having a character just sit around and monologue excessively. However, in seamless little snippets, Ms. Monroe paints a picture of the lonely, surreal world Oz inhabits after his death. And it is a rich, unusual place, from the means that the reapers use to send souls on to the afterlife to the hidden perils that stalk them while they work. The hidden world that Ms. Monroe superimposed upon the familiar was so intriguing that I couldn't bring myself to mind that little aftertaste of reality. There was still a feeling of escape, of new and unusual discoveries the turn of every page. And that satisfied even the most car-phobic, epic fantasy reader parts of my brain.

Then, of course, there's Oz. It's beyond important to have a main character that people either really like or hate in a fascinated sort of way. Oz delivers on the former quite well. I related strongly to his earnest attempts to seek authenticity in his writing, which resulted in the occasional silly experiment. Say, for instance, slamming a car door experimentally to try and hear the sound of finality in it, as he'd written in his novel, and being rewarded with the sound of his car door breaking. Been there. Maybe not exactly there, but I'm somewhere around the corner, absent-mindedly breaking shit while I plot. 

Oz did make some bad decisions across the pages and there are times when I liked him less for them, but there were moments where he won me over strongly enough that I figured we could weather any storm. The first such moment happened when he was walking along with Bard during his initial jaunt into the real world and Bard catches him making ridiculous faces in the reflection of a shop window. He's died, been to purgatory, and come back as a grim reaper, and this is where his natural urges take him. That's my kinda guy.

Ultimately, REAPER is not without its flaws. I don't think I've read any book that doesn't have at least one thing I could pick at, if I was in the mood for picking. But all in all, it was an entertaining read that kept my attention, and it delivered an especially solid ending, which is my personal benchmark for a book worth recommending. After all, there's nothing more disheartening than trekking across the pages with a group of characters and then arriving at the end feeling wildly unfulfilled. In my humble opinion, a good ending can make or break a book, and this one really shines. So I recommend you click the link above and get your hands on a copy today.

Book Review: Jackaroo by Cynthia Voigt

Order a copy of Jackaroo here.

This image was originally found here.

Long long ago in a galaxy far away (actually, in Jacksonville Beach, Florida, circa 1991 or 1992), my best friend's mother read us to sleep with a book called On the Wings of a Falcon by Cynthia Voigt. Although it shredded my baby feels into confetti, I developed an unreasonable fondness for that book. Later, as an adult, I remembered it with nostalgia and tracked down a hard copy for my library.

It was only in reading the back of the book that I realized it was number three in a series. My heart went pitter pat with delight. I had just gone through a Patricia McKillip binge and I needed a new author to read. As much as I love McKillip's ornate, poetic prose and her worlds that brim with magic, I felt the need for something a bit more grounded. If On the Wings of a Falcon was any indication, Cynthia Voigt would be just what the doctor ordered. 

Of course, because this is me we're talking about, I got distracted by something shiny and forgot about it for a while. Weeks later, it hit me in an avalanche of renewed joy when I was lying on my couch, suffering through the vagaries of cable TV. I turned off the TV and I downloaded book one, Jackaroo, onto my ipad.

The rest, my friends, is history. As in, these books have the feel of actual history, a time and a place that could actually happen. Instead of elves, fairies, orcs, and goblins (which definitely have their place), Cynthia Voigt's Kingdom is filled with hardworking people in a medieval society who live under the thumbs of the Lords, their lives filled with toil and difficulty, but softened by family and friendship. In this way, and so many others, the characters come across as real, relatable people whose problems don't feel so far removed from our own. And the best example of this principle is in the main character, Gwyn,

One of the original covers.

This image was found here.

Gwyn is the Innkeeper's daughter, and as such occupies a place of relative privilege when compared to the other common people. Times are hard because of a war going on in the south, but the inn's custom always thrives. While others may go without, Gwyn wears good sturdy clothes, always has enough to eat, and her father has the coin to give her a good dowry. 

But this does not mean, as some of her envious neighbors might think, that her life is a bed of roses. For one thing, Gwyn's life is filled with toil, and she is a good, strong, steady worker who is still not valued as much as her bratty younger brother, Tad, the Innkeeper's sole surviving son. Furthermore, she's at a crossroads in her life where she must make a difficult decision. The custom among the people is that when a girl comes of age, she must either announce that she is interested in marriage or declare she'll never marry. If she announces the intention of marriage and no one speaks for her in a set amount of time, she still ends up forever single, owing her labor to whichever male relative inherits her father's holdings. The same results follow from announcing her intention that she'll never marry. If a man speaks for her and she says yes, then it's to her husband's house that she goes, and adds her labors to his. 

Gwyn, unfortunately, has her heart set on a man who hates her father. Out of spite, he'll never ask for her. She doesn't want anyone else, so she's decided that she'll never marry. However, the marvelous thing about this book is even though the story does touch upon the fears of a woman who knows that if she doesn't marry, she'll be looked upon a certain way by society, and she'll have no one to support her as she ages, this is not the sum total of the story. It is not about whether or not Gwyn will have a man in her life, it's about the use she decides to put her life to instead.

Another cover.

This image was found here.

In this story, Gwyn sees the injustice that other people ignore and aches to do something about it. She is inspired by the legend of the Jackaroo, a daring highwayman who robs from the tax collector and gives to the poor, who saves innocent men from the noose, and punishes the greedy and corrupt. And when certain events make her realize how poorly she belongs in the neat little world that she's inhabited her whole life, she begins to look for ways to follow the Jackaroo's example and fight for those in need.

This is not your typical fantasy novel, brimming with magic and curses and fantastic creatures, but Cynthia Voigt's world-building has such depth and detail that the Kingdom still captures the imagination. There is something rich and compelling even in the quiet scenes of life at the inn, showing Gwyn at her tasks or interacting with her family and the Innkeeper's servant, Burl, that one doesn't pine after the clash of swords or the twinkle of fairy dust. It is a quiet story with moments of action and peril instead of an emphasis on breakneck pacing, a thoughtful story with excellent character development, and ultimately, it's a very satisfying story. 

There is something hypnotic about Cynthia Voigt's writing. She isn't the dreamy, poetic writer that McKillip is, for instance, but there is a strong, steady craftsmanship in her words, and they are embroidered with just the right amount of beautiful imagery. They lead you inexorably from one plot point to the next, leaving you unable to look away, until the book is done. It is why I, who usually linger and mull over a book, strolling through the pages and sopping up every last word, was done with this book in two weeks, then promptly reread the ending over again to enjoy it a second time. I was done with the second book even more quickly, and I have plans to go back and reread the last half. I fell under the spell of the world, characters, and the strong writing, and I couldn't stop turning pages once I started. Further, although they can be read separately and they stand alone as distinct stories (with subtle connective tissue between the books, nonetheless), Voigt's Kingdom books are addictive, like potato chips: you can't read just one. 

All in all, I think this book excels at so many things, but it's the stunningly detailed and relatable main characters that really sell it for me. I loved Gwyn, how she was clever and knew her own mind, but never went into that perilous, over-the-top shrew extreme that sometimes gets mistaken for strength. She was competent and capable and brave and compassionate, but she was also headstrong and apt to make impulsive decisions. She wasn't always kind to her brother or the quiet and somewhat mysterious Burl, but never for even the smallest of moments was she unlikable. So I'd highly recommend that you pick up your own copy and spend some time with Gwyn in Voigt's Kingdom today!

A Few of My Favorite (Literary) Things

All right, I recently got tagged in one of those Facebook games where you're supposed to list 18 books that had an impact on your life. And of course I cheated and listed entire series for some, because I have too many favorite books to be tied down to a mere 18. #StickingItToTheMan! Anyhow, because this is a pretty comprehensive list of my very favorite books in the whole world and I hope to entice others into exploring these literary gems further, I thought I would post my list here for all to see. So here it is, in no particular order.

Image: "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe"

by TriaElf9

1. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis

The first fantasy novel I ever read, it was my first step down a path leading to a lifelong passion for the genre. My love for this book is what made me start writing my own stories. In case you're not familiar with the story, it's about four children sent to live with a professor in the country during the London air raids of World War II. There, the youngest stumbles upon a magical wardrobe connected to a winter-bound world and sucks her siblings into a quest to help the talking animals of Narnia defeat the White Queen. Influences from the fairy tale, the Snow Queen, and from Lewis' own Christian faith abound.

Image: "A Spell for Chameleon" by BrokenApollo

2. A Spell for Chameleon by Piers Anthony

Piers Anthony was the guy who showed me that fantasy didn’t have to be all “throw the ring in the fiery mountain lest we all be doomed.” It reminded me that there can be fun in the genre, that characters can fight evil and there can still be laughter and nonsense. Besides, who doesn't love a good pun, especially a magical world filled with puns that just happens to be shaped like Florida?

3. Child of the Northern Spring by Persia Woolley

My childhood best friend's mom read this book to us one night while I was spending the night at their house. I think this is where I learned to love Arthurian legends, and I haven’t stopped hunting down good retellings since. Woolley's version of Guinevere is about the only version of the character I've been able to stand. She is a living, breathing, flawed character who I root for in spite of knowing her ultimate fate.

4. The Crystal Cave by Mary Stewart (and all the ensuing books in that series)

Luckily, after Child of the Northern Spring created my thirst for Arthurian legends, I found stellar books like this to slake it. This historical, yet still legendary series is part of the reason that I love Merlin so. In Stewart's books, he's not just a wise old sage. You watch him grow from a shy child to an old man, and he feels like a real person. What's more, the likes of Arthur, Uther, Ygraine, and the gang come to life on these pages more so than in any other retelling I'd seen in ages by the time I discovered this series. I reread these books until they almost fell apart.

5. Merlin’s Harp by Anne Eliot Crompton

Another brilliant Arthurian legend that puts a relatable gloss on the story without losing its legendary feel. This is one of the most original takes on Mordred’s role in the story and on the Lady of the Lake's identity. The seamless way Crompton wove the pieces of the legend into a framework of her own creating is one of the many reasons I used to reread this book on a yearly basis. Add in her mastery of the language and it's a book I never hesitate to recommend.

6. The A Man of His Word series and the sequel series, A Handful of Men, by Dave Duncan

I had been writing my own stories for years by the time I read these books, and they influenced me heavily. I was awed both by Duncan’s brilliant imagination, which created one of the most interesting worlds and magical systems I've ever read about, and by his ability to juggle dozens of plot threads and then handily tie them all up at the end in a way that felt right and natural. And seldom have I been as engaged by any set of characters as I was by his. I still love Rap beyond speaking to this day. Notably, Rap was one of the first fantasy heroes I'd ever read about who wasn't described as ridiculously good-looking, too, and was, in fact, a bit on the unattractive side.

7. Deerskin by Robin McKinley

There are a lot of worthwhile McKinley books to seek out, but this one stands out to me as the best of them all. It takes a shallow French fairy tale that makes light of a father’s interest in marrying his daughter (insert this face here: O_o) and gives that plot weight and consequence. It takes the wronged princess on a journey from victim to survivor that was meaningful and moving using language so beautiful it's worth reading just for the effortless descriptions, alone. I have never been so torn apart by a fairy tale retelling, only to be put back together into a better version of myself. Every time I put the book down, smiling through my tears, I immediately want to go through it all again.

"Royal Assassin" by AlbinoNial

8. The Farseer Trilogy by Robin Hobb

These books came along when I was getting bored by the fact that every fantasy hero seemed like a noble, studly piece of beefcake with wicked fighting skills and a flawless mind. People who never do the wrong thing are kind of hard to relate to. Then Fitz came walking into my literary life. Fitz may be a good-looking sort, but he is far from perfect. Leaving aside that he’s the bastard son of a disgraced prince and ends up becoming a royal assassin, he’s a mess of a human being. His intentions are generally good, but he often acts selfishly or impulsively and makes his situation worse. Which is actually infinitely more interesting to read about than a bunch of perfect people who don't know the meaning of the word "mistake." The world Hobbs created in these books is one of the most well-developed and fascinating ones I've ever seen and her writing is beautiful.

9. The Enchanted Forest Chronicles by Patricia C. Wrede

These books also came along to save me when I was getting bored with the same old tropes and  Super Serious Plots. They were also a ray of light in a world that seemed crammed with people trying to write spunky heroines who ended up coming across as annoying or overbearing. Cimorene was my ideal heroine: smart, capable, tired of being underestimated, but never beating you over the head with a sign saying, “I am woman, hear me roar.” The books were charming and light, but with just weight enough to be satisfying. One of the first novels I ever wrote that I was proud of when it was finished, The Humble Abode, was heavily influenced by these books.

10. Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman

I didn’t discover that Neil Gaiman until I was in my early twenties. I don’t know where his books had been all my life before that, but clearly, I had been missing out. And though I love just about everything he's ever written, this is, by far, my favorite of his books. It’s so dark and rich and inventive, and Croup and Vandermar are my absolute favorite literary villains. I could've stayed in London Below forever, even if it slightly terrified me.

"The Red Bull" by Dreoilin

11. The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle

Though I had known and loved the movie since I was a child, I was skeptical about reading the book. Growing up in a My Little Pony world had convinced me that unicorns were silly and girly. But Peter Beagle’s unicorn is not a My Little Pony unicorn. There’s magic and majesty and tragedy about this creature, mixed with a charming vanity and vulnerability that make her relatable. And Beagle's use of the language is some of the most gorgeous, imaginative, poetic writing I’ve seen. Not to mention the fact that the love story twists up my feels in the most glorious way. This book reminded me of why I wanted to be a writer at a time when I was wondering if it was all worth it. If there's a shot in Hell that I'll ever write anything as half as good as this, it mostly certainly is.

(Read my full review of this book here. Also, check out my review on Tamsin, which is my second favorite Beagle book!)

12. Ombria in Shadow by Patricia McKillip

I’m gonna be honest: I did not like the way this book ends. And you know what? I don't even care a little bit, because it was the first McKillip book I’d read and it was so gorgeously written I’d have forgiven her if she’d just stopped writing halfway through. Within 6 pages, I was so heavily invested in the characters that I couldn’t look away. I’ve read whole books and not cared that much! Domina Pearl has also joined Croup and Vandemar in my villainous hall of fame, a sort of old lady Darth Vader to their pair of well-spoken brutes. And I swooned harder over a romance that was only mentioned in flashbacks in this book than I have about detailed romantic plots in other books. The world McKillip created here was absolutely fascinating, and there are too many characters that I loved to describe them all briefly. (I wrote a full review on this book, and you can read it here.)

Original image found here.

13. In the Forests of Serre by Patricia McKillip

Yeah, I put her on here twice. And it’s not the last time, either. This book showed how cleverly one can take folklore and twist and combine different stories to make something utterly and gloriously unique. With Baba Yaga and her chicken-legged hut in one corner and the enigmatic and beautiful firebird in the other, one hardly knows what to gawk at first as one wanders across the pages of this book.

And Ronan. Oh Ronan. I have such a huge literary crush on tragic Prince Ronan, who went off to war in the hopes that he’d perish because he couldn’t live with the loss of his wife and child. McKillip takes him through a beautifully written physical and emotional journey through the forests of his kingdom and the haze his grief and brings him out of the other side. 

14. The Changeling Sea by Patricia McKillip

I could go on and on about Patricia McKillip. Stylistically, she’s probably one of the best writers I’ve ever encountered, and I have trouble finding anything I like half as much now that I’ve found her. This book is McKillip at her best. It’s short and romantic and tragic, yet so beautifully written that I’m glad to take the shots to the feels. And Peri is one of McKillip’s most relatable heroines. I loved her, I rooted for her, and I found her irresistably charming.

15. The Tower at Stony Wood by Patricia McKillip

You know, I thought I could keep it to the three, but this book just knocked my socks off, too. The interplay of the various legends was incredible, especially the way she used the selkie legends. You also get a dashing knight worth throwing hankies at, a dragon to make other literary dragons tremble in terror and awe, and more of her unbelievably beautiful words. But lest ye think a tale of dragons and knights means there’s nothing an ordinary person can relate to, you get characters like Melanthos, who is an everywoman type with a goodly dose of spunk. (Also, her boyfriend sounds dishy and sweet.) Plus, you have concepts like loyalty and brotherly love woven throughout, which we can all relate to.

"Burning Heart" by Maripose-Nocturna.

16. Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones

I saw the movie before I read the book, and that worked out well for me. Watching the movie first helped me enjoy it without punishing it for not being quite as clever as the book. Then I read the book, and it was captivating, a fairy tale with a lot of clever twists and a very relatable main character. And yes, Howl is one of my literary boyfriends. Cowardly though he may be at times, I’d live in his moving castle any day!

17. Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

I don’t even know how to explain this book. Its wacky patter, the hilarious plot involving the antichrist being misplaced at birth (along with the resulting the identity crisis of his Hell hound), and the captivating characters (angelic, demonic, and human) make this one of the best pieces of brain candy I’ve ever savored.

18. The Hero and the Crown by Robin McKinley

Deerskin may be my favorite McKinley book, but this book is nipping at its heels. It’s another great example of a heroine who is strong and compelling without being obnoxious. And despite the fact that the main character, Aerin, is not only a princess but a dragon slayer, she is STILL one of the most relatable heroines I've ever read about. The mechanism by which she fights dragons actually makes it believable that a princess is able to kick some reptilian bum, and the romance involved, while secondary to her heroic journey, is utterly swoonworthy.

Nerdgirl State of the Union Address

I like that blog title. Makes me sound all presidential and junk. Not like someone who almost lost a toenail tripping over a pile of shoes yesterday. Ah, gravity and my own messiness: trying to kill me since 1985. 

This image was found at this site.

So, I haven't posted recently. I have been reading a lot, I've simply been too lazy to review things as they come up. However, I am excited to report that I have recently discovered the magical world of comic books, so that's claimed a lot of my attention lately. Now, they're not wholly unfamiliar to me. When I was a kid, I did whatever my brother did because my brother was wicked cool, so I read comics because he read comics. In particular, I remember digging Spider-Man, Daredevil, and X-men. I also branched out into some Cloak and Dagger at some point, but I actually remember nothing about those comics other than the fact that I liked them.

Getting back into comics has been overwhelming, if enjoyable. I simply don't remember how they work. It reminds me of my frustration with Greek mythology and Arthurian legends when I was younger and more naive. I wanted there to be a RIGHT version of these stories, the accepted version. I'd still read the variations, I just wanted to know which one was more legitimate than the others. I have no idea why. I guess I crave canon in all things, perhaps to create order from the chaos that comes of stories being retold in a thousand different ways. But the truth of the matter is, in some things, like myths and legends, canon is hard to come by. You might find repeating themes, common characteristics, and recurring plot developments, but when something springs up from a largely oral tradition, that shit is gonna vary. Every teller wants to add a flourish, which is why we end up with fairy tales like this that just go on with the "and then this happened... and this happened..." until you have enough material for three fairy tales. People who swapped stories back in the day did NOT understand the notion of a sagging plot hat.

Comic books... aren't that different. I was immediately confused, coming into the comic realm, as to where I'm supposed to begin reading about any particular character. Some of them had recent reboots, like She-Hulk or Nightcrawler, so that made it simple. I just hopped onto those trains as they left the station. But then I read "Night of the Living Deadpool" and fell head over heels for the merc with the mouth. I ran to my Marvel app for more, and... and... I have too many options. *sits down in the corner and cries.*

This image was found on this site.

Deadpool has had so many runs and miniseries and teamups that I have no idea where to begin. It's like coming to a place in a trail that branches off in nine directions, with a sign next to each branch that says, "go this way." It's okay, though, I'm working on figuring it out. I suspect Deadpool's humor translates well without a lot of background knowledge, so I really just need to decide where I want to jump in. I have a similar issue with Dr. Strange, who seems to have quite a lengthy history, but I love him enough to figure it out. His backstory fascinates me and he seems like an intriguing character. Plus, I hear he's getting a movie.

What helped me to get hooked on comics initially without being overwhelmed by all the iterations of the stories was that I began my foray into comics by choosing two series that have one linear storyline to follow: Sandman and Fables. While I know Fables has a few spinoffs and Sandman seems to have some bonus stories, it's pretty easy to find and follow the main thread. I've only read volume one of Sandman so far, but I did enjoy it. The stories got a bit gruesome, but not enough to deter me, so I've ordered volume two. As to Fables, I made it up to volume 10 and stalled. Volumes 1-5 were solid, with volume 4 being one of the best things I've read. Then my ship started floundering in a weird way and my favorite powerful, independent female character got turned into Donna Reed, so I threw my hands up in the air. I don't think I'm done with the series, but I need a break to think about things. Hopefully, this doesn't turn into the pre-breakup timeout I took with "Castle" years ago... 

In any case, I've found this article, "How to Buy Comics: A Beginner's Guide," to be helpful as I traverse this new territory. It also certainly doesn't hurt that the two comic book stores I tend to frequent, the Book Shelf in Tallahassee and Superhero Beach in Jacksonville, are magnificent places where newbs are welcomed and the staff is friendly and helpful. I heart the Book Shelf in particular, not only for the long conversations and helpful hints I've gotten from the owner, but for the fact that it is filled to brimming with rooms of used books. Even as I feel overwhelmed by my newbness, wading into a sea of comic books, the mountains of books across the room feel like a life preserver.

This image originally pinned here.

Of course, I haven't been just reading comics these days. I also read Neil Gaiman's The Ocean at the End of the Lane, which was quite good, and I've been rereading Robin McKinley's Deerskin, albeit very slowly. Now, I say slowly because I used to reread Deerskin on a yearly basis, and it always tore me apart. I'd weep and snuffle through the pages, wanting to rescue the main character from her hardships, and then promptly smile and sigh and want to do it all over again. Now that I'm about 200 pages deep into my reread, I'm hitting some seriously heart-wrenching moments, so I've developed the habit of reading for a while and then stopping to feel all of the feelings. However, please don't think that this talk of weeping and being torn apart means that you should avoid this book. You should only avoid this book if you want to be deprived of the beauty of an exquisitely written and emotional fairy tale retelling that brings both mysticism and relatability to the old French yarn, Donkeyskin. So, you know, it's your life, if you want to do it wrong, I'm not going to judge you. 

This image found on this site.

I've also been writing, of course, because that's what I do. [1] I finished my novel, Ash, a while back, and I'm querying it. I also wrote several short stories that I've been shopping around. I've gotten three rejections so far on the short story front, with the jury still being out on two others, but at least one rejection actually turned out to be a positive development. One of my stories, "The Turning," had been bothering me. I felt like I had a cool setup, but maybe not enough of a "so what?" in the end. Sitting there, staring at the rejection in my inbox, I suddenly knew what the answer to the "so what?" was. It all clicked into place like some kind of magnificent Lego castle, and I could've hugged the editor who rejected me for giving me the kick in the pants I needed to think it through properly. So I put my nose to the grindstone to rework the ending. 

It was tough going for a while. I kept thinking, "Well, I was in a very specific mood when I wrote this beginning, and it's very dreamy. I'm not there anymore, so I'm afraid if I mess with it now, the tone will be inconsistent. I should wait to be in the right mood again." Then I read this blog post on "Not-Writing" by Patricia C. Wrede, which explains the difference between true writer's block and just plain not writing, and it hit me kinda like this: 

This image is also pinned here.

Ahem. So. No excuses. I kept on working. And in the end, I think my perseverance paid off. I finished the story and I'm pretty pleased with it, so it's off to the beta reader for feedback and then the final spit-shine. And in fixing that story, I actually figured out how to solve a plot problem in my novel, Beauty. So essentially, I'm walking on sunshine right now. Mind, I still have another story languishing in mid-process that I'm supposed to be working on right now instead of blogging. But given as this was how I felt the last time I attempted it-- 

This image is also pinned here.

-- I thought a little procrastination was in order. Besides, my blog was looking lonely and unloved. Something had to give. 

Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed the nattering, and will make good life choices and read Deerskin. Uh, also, if you have tips on how to dive into a comic book series with a long history, I am dying to have them. Until next time, gentle readers!

[1] Footnote: Does anyone else mentally finish the sentence, "that's what I do" with "it's what I live for, to help unfortunate merfolk like yourself"? No? Is it just me? Rats.

Book Review: The Riddle-Master Trilogy by Patricia McKilliip

"The Harp No Longer Sings" by Gold-Seven.

 You can check out the artist's work here.

I have a confession to make. I actually tried to read Patricia McKillip's Riddle-Master trilogy once before and failed. Despite the glorious things I had heard about the books, I got lost in a maze of odd names and confused about who was who, and I stopped reading about 20-some pages in due to an information overload. But I promised myself that I'd come back to it one day, because some of the things I'd been told about the books made them sound like a story that should not be missed. 

Buy your copy of this magnificent book here.

To say that I'm really glad that I did is an understatement. Once I learned to focus on the important things and allow the story to tell me which details were important, things went much more smoothly. All the place names and people that were mentioned slid off my mind like beads of water while I fixated on the main character, Morgon of Hed, his funny, brawling family, and his high-tempered friend, Prince Rood of An. And of course, once I realized that there was a romance in this book, I was hooked. (I'm a sucker like that.)

As the story unfolds, we learn that Morgon is the Prince of Hed, a tiny, inconsequential farming kingdom where very little happens of note. That is, until Morgon decides to challenge a ghost in the land of An to a riddle match. When his sister finds the crown he won under his bed, Morgon discovers that he's stirred up a hornet's nest by quietly winning a contest so many men have died trying their hand at. He also discovers that the crown was not the only prize for besting the ghost: King Mathom of An also promised his daughter, Princess Raederle, to whoever beat the ghost's riddle game. Raederele is the sister of Morgon's friend, Rood. Morgon has known and admired Raederle for some time, and he's quite smitten with her. With visions of a beautiful, amber-eyed redhead dancing in his mind, he sets out from Hed with the intention of coming forward with the crown and seeking Raederle's hand.

As much as Morgon would have been perfectly content to take his princess back to Hed and return to farming, making beer, and bickering with his siblings, the universe has other plans for him. No sooner does he leave his little island than do strange enemies come out of the woodwork, endangering not only Morgon, but those he loves best. In fighting and fleeing his foes, Morgon finds himself faced with a host of riddles even he can't answer that all seem to revolve around the mark of the three stars that has been on his face since birth. Those stars seem to mark him for a destiny that is larger than life, one set in place thousands of years before he was born. He must either give in to it or perish, even if embracing his destiny means giving up all of the things he holds most dear.

"Vesta" by Dusksong.

The original image is found here.

The journey Morgon undertakes makes this Patricia McKillip's most traditional fantasy novel yet, as it has the quest structure and some of the familiar high fantasy archetypes. However, what elevates it and makes it extraordinary is her rich, imaginative world, filled with golden horned vesta bounding through the snows, land-rulers who are bonded to their lands such that they share an empathy with the earth itself, and odd, beautiful magic, where even the gentlest harping may hold great power. Once I started traveling with Morgon into these other lands, I couldn't have put the book down if I'd tried. Each new place held such marvels that I couldn't wait to see where he went to next or who he would meet. There is no doubting after you read this book that Patricia McKillip's imagination is a national treasure.

The characters are another strong draw. Morgon, himself, is a sympathetic and flawed hero. He is not entirely willing to be sucked into the role of a legendary hero, but when duty calls, he has enough honor to step up. He's a kind, gentle man and a good brother, and relies on wit and intuition rather than pure brawn. And it also speaks well of him that he respects his lady love. Even though he has won the right to marry her by winning the riddle match, it is never Morgon's intention to show up and claim her like lottery winnings. No, Morgon's first through is to ask her if she would be willing to marry him, and then and only then will he take her back to Hed. 

"Pepper Breeze" by Artgem

Original image found here.

Raederle, herself, is absent from the first book, but takes on a very nontraditional role in the second book. And that's the other thing that is so spectacular about these books. This fair princess is not sitting somewhere knitting booties for her future offspring while the hero does all the work. Raederle is an active heroine in the story herself, a fiery, spirited, independent, strong-willed woman who knows what she wants and goes after it. After all, Morgon is not the only one with a destiny here!

I could go on about how beautifully McKillip handles Raederle's interactions with Morgon, keeping a legendary tone to the story, but also with a thread of realism and relatability, but I don't want to get too spoilery. Suffice it to say that this is not your typical fantasy story, though it's every bit as lovely and magical as you would hope it to be. 

Even without Morgon and Raederle earning gold stars for awesomeness, there's a whole host of supporting characters who shine in these books. Deth, the High One's harpist, is an intriguing riddle of a man who kept me on my toes throughout the books. King Har of Osterland, Danan Isig, Astrin Ymris, the Morgol, and Mathom of An also earned my respect and devotion in their time on the pages. I loved every one of them like they were old friends and anytime any of them had cause to grieve, I wanted to wade into the story and hug them. 

"Raederle" by CaithnardStudent

Original image found here.

And did I mention how beautifully McKillip writes? You've heard me wax on about this before, if you've read some of my other reviews about her books. Still, it cannot be said enough: this woman has a poet's soul and a novelist's mind. Her words glitter and glint on the page, filling your mind with gorgeous, dream-like images. When describing a character's impatience, we are told that she feels that "even the dead of An, their bones plaited with grass roots, must be drumming their fingers in their graves." And then you have passages like this, that make me want to hang up my keyboard and stop pretending like I can share the name "writer" with someone like McKillip:

In the end, as the pieces of the story came together, I could clearly see what McKillip had been building to from the beginning. Even the small patches where I doubted, thinking she was meandering a bit, snapped into focus as crucial moments that shaped the ending. In other books by this author, I've had to spend time mulling the rightness of the ending, wondering if the plot points truly lined up in the direction she had chosen. Usually, I come around to appreciate it, though I sometimes find myself wishing that things had played out a little differently here and there. This time, I didn't even have to think about it. I felt the rightness in the story, even though parts of it broke my heart.

Ultimately, these books will resonate in my memory as some of the best I've ever read. So, to put it mildly, I'd recommend them. To put it less mildly, why are you still sitting here reading this review? Quick, order your copy now! And then come back and tell me how much you loved it in the comments! :)